A Warrior's Tale
by The Karlminion
Summary: Jack Brewster has been a warrior in the army since he was fourteen. He wants out, but he can't imagine how he'll get out...


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_**A Warrior's Tale  
Prologue: Weariness**_  
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_Clang… swish…clunk… these, and many others, are the sounds of battle._

_I have lived with such noises all my life, and the accompanying sights; the gleam of the sword as it arcs down towards its target… the resulting noise, and possible repercussions, of a successful hit… the sound of the axe, accurate or no, as it swings home…_

_I'm tired of this life. I'm tired of swinging my blade, of waving my arms, of drinking those abominable potions… it has been a good life, don't get me wrong- there's nothing so satisfying, for instance, as seeing the head of a particularly nasty foe fly away from his neck, and seeing the stain on your sword, and knowing that it was your blade that had conquered that one foe._

_Too often, however, that one moment of triumph is over-shadowed by the need to move on to the next target, the next battle… and frankly, I'm sick of it._

_I want out, in other words._

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Jackson Brewster walked up the sea of tents, a strange look on his face and a new resolve formed in his heart. His destination; the commander's tent. His resolve; to quit. Jack was tired of the endless fighting. He wanted out, but he didn't want to be a deserter. He had his honor, and he would not stain it with such a low thing as desertation. Which, when you boil it down, is just another type of betrayal.

He was at the tent; he was inside.

Within, it was little better than his own tent; Commander Alex wasn't the type to bask in the luxury of rank. Alex himself could usually be found sitting at a desk in the tent, when he was there at all; most of the time he was striding around among the men, offering a word here, a criticism there. Never harsh, though. He was well liked by the men under his command, and he appreciated their feeling very much.

Jack was lucky, for Alex was at his desk. He cleared his throat. "Sir."

Alex looked up. "Ah, Lieutenant Brewster. Come in, sit down. What can I do for my best swordsman today, eh?"

Jack sat down in the only other chair. "Sir, I'm tired of the war, I want out." He tried to compose his face so that it wouldn't betray his anxiety, but he knew it was showing through anyway.

"You want out, you say? That's understandable; you've been with me since the beginning, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"And if I remember rightly, the war began… five years ago. You've been eighteen back then, I believe."

"No, sir; I was only fourteen. I'm nineteen now."

Alex sat back, clearly shocked. "Four… How did you get in at such an age? How could you fool the recruiters?"

"I didn't fool them; I beat them. When I went up to them, they laughed and told me to get lost. I got mad and drew my father's sword. They stopped laughing, and told me to get out before they showed me a thing or two. I replied that they could go to hell.

"That really pissed them off. Two of them drew steel and came at me at once; the other began to wave a staff and chant strange words. I didn't know that he was preparing a stasis spell; it seemed to me then that he was getting ready to send fireballs my way.

"I knew I had to take care of the other two real quick if I were to have any chance of stopping that mage. They circled me, blades ready, waiting for their chance. I figured they were going to let me get blasted, and then they would come in and finish it. That's when I came up with my plan; I would let the mage finish his spell, and I would dodge it. Then I would move towards one of the other two and take care of him, then the other. Once they were down, I would go and neutralize the mage, just in case he thought to ready another spell.

"Sir, that was basically how it went down. I wasn't strong enough to actually kill the two sword fighters, nor was my sword sharp enough, but I did stun them long enough to be able to take out the unguarded mage. When they recovered, I told them I was willing to do it again, and again, all day if need be, but I was getting into the army. They looked into my eyes- I've always been told I've got warrior's eyes; that's what originally gave me the idea of running away for the army- and saw that I meant every word.

"They helped me fix my records, they gave me a little gold, and I was in. And the rest is history, as they say." He took a breath; he had never told that story to anyone, and apparently neither had the recruiters. Obviously they wouldn't; the shame of being beaten by a fourteen year old was probably too much.

Alex still looked shocked. "You were a sword demon even then, weren't you?" Then he laughed. "And a good thing, too; you're the reason my unit has done so well. It'd be a shame to let you go. But I see how you'd be tired of it all.

"Tell you what, Jack; one more battle. One more battle and you're free. Does that sound good?"

To Jack, that sounded great. He had expected worse, but he should have known; Alex was a reputed softie when it came to his men, after all. "Sounds great, sir. I believe we've got a deal. Shake?" And they did, grinning at each other like gamblers sealing a wager.

Jack had turned to leave when Alex remembered something. "Oh! Jack, wait. You got a letter yesterday." He held up a small envelope and tossed it to Jack.

"I got a letter? Hmm… Mineral Town? My grandpa lives there. His name was Jack, and he was in the army, too." He opened the letter and read its contents. Suddenly, his world turned upside-down.

He would be going home a lot sooner then expected.


End file.
